Economist at Fayetteville, Arkansas

It was a sunny afternoon

At story-telling time.

Old Kaspar chose a fresh cigar

and sipped his rum-and-lime,

While Peterkin and Wilhelmine

Looked at the futurama screen.

They saw a large commercial bank

Beside a busy street;

And men who marched and counter marched,

Like soldiers on a beat,

Or stood in solid, rigid lines

Presenting sandwich boards and signs.

"Now tell us what it’s all about,"

The little children cried.

"It is the Robbers’ Brotherhood,"

Old Kaspar then replied;

"These men parade with stamp and swank

While other members rob the bank."

"Why don’t the Cops arrest them all?”

Asked little Peterkin.

"The Cops belong to unions, too,"

Said Kaspar with a grin;

"They’d rather boil in oil or brine

Than cross a union picket line."

"Then must we let the Robbers go,

To rob another day?"

"The Cops would catch them,” Kaspar said,

"If they could find a way;

But union ethics make it clear

A picket line is sacred, dear."